I'm in Love with a Stripper
by almostfrances
Summary: Bella is a successful but stubborn stripper. Edward is an arrogant young businessman. She doesn't think she's lovable, he doesn't think he's capable of love. Can these two work through their differences and face their feelings, or will their egos and meddling friends get in the way? MA, AU/AH. Dramedy.
1. Starstrukk

I'm in Love with a Stripper

almostfrances

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, I do not profit from posting this story. Simply borrowing the characters.

Author Note: Hello all, and welcome to the wonderful world of Stripperella and Sleazward. I hope you're ready for the naughtiness about to take place, and I hope you all enjoy. I'm planning on updating at least once-twice a week, and am hoping to keep it around ten-twenty chapters. Canon couples, AU/AH. Please leave me love, and I truly appreciate it and constructive criticism always makes for better chapters! And maybe even faster updates :] Twitter is ** frankienopants** - please follow for story updates and randomness from my life. Thank you!

Chapter One

Cause I just set them up, just set them, just set them up to knock them down.

I think I should know how to make love to something innocent without leaving my fingerprints out.

L-o-v-e is just another word I never learned to pronounce.

- "Starstrukk," 3OH!3

The only thing that makes this job tolerable is Alice, and she hands me my trusty styrofoam cup filled with whatever tasty, alcoholic concoction she's trying to invent this evening. "This one _should_ make you want to dance," she says in a scientific way, looking as serious as any girl can in a pair of gold-satin tap shorts and matching bikini top, all topped off with torn a ripped up fish net bodysuit and six-inch stiletto heels. I've never understood why bartenders at Eclipse had to wear heels - running around fixing drinks and opening beers on the tacky black tile floor seemed dangerous.

Says the girl who can't walk four feet in Chucks. But get me in a pair of stripper heels, under the hot bright lights, and I manage to transform into the graceful bird of my last name. Swan. Isabella Swan. It sounds like a stripper name, and I would know. Maybe my mother was going through a psychic phase when she was pregnant. Either way, I couldn't use my real name when taking my clothes off in front of strangers - it was Alice that came up with the stripper name, which was quite uncommon. It was Mora - it means sweet little berry. She said that guys would go wild when they heard the meaning.

"Thanks," I say, taking a sip through the straw. It's weak, but tastes nice, fruity and fizzy. Exactly what I need to get through the night. I lean against the bar, surveying the customers so far tonight. It's only ten-thirty, early enough, and a few gentlemen are lining the bar. A group of younger guys in Tap Out apparel sit around the rim of the stage, where the big pole - the one with the bell at the top, where ambitious and athletic dancers climb up and ring for attention or tips or whatever, is located. On stage, a pretty thin girl with practically no ass but huge fake breasts slithers around, already down to her hot pink G-string. There is a lot of blonde hair tossing and lip licking, but Missy is new. She'll learn soon enough - never get down to the panties until your last song. And if there is a bunch of guys sitting around the stage, you should probably not avoid them... For the most part, they won't bite. The guys watch, but no one is reaching for their wallets.

"You know," Alice says, "I was at the university library earlier..."

"What were _you_ doing in a library?" I ask, genuinely surprised.

"Hey, I read!" I give her a look that clearly says I don't believe her. "Ok, the internet went out and I _had_ to check my Facespace -"

"You are an addict," I say, shaking my head. Her big brown eyes turned puppy dog, and I shook my head. When we first met, in a psychology class during our freshmen year of school, it might have worked. Alice is very good at the guilt trip, the pouting, the girly spoiled princess thing. But now that we were older, and roommates, I had grown immune to it. "Anyway, you're at the library..."

"Right, and I saw that they're doing a production of 'Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,' which I know you love," Alice explains, ignoring our manager, who was glaring at her from the DJ booth above the floor. Laurent is a grumpy ass, though he does love us - he just hates when we stand around chatting instead of working over the clients or stocking the bar or kissing his ass or whatever. He was pointing at her, and she waved him off with a dismissive, manicured hand. "Auditions are on Saturday afternoon."

"And...?" I knew she was trying to encourage my deepest, most secret dream. I really really appreciated that she loved me so much, that she wanted me to meet my goals and live a fulfilling life of fast cars, pretty clothes, boat loads of money and general success. But having her throw opportunities I couldn't take advantage of in my face only made me feel worse instead of better, or hopeful or whatever.

"And you should go for it!" She bounces, making her tiny chest jiggle in her top. Her dark, short hair was pin-curled and the little springy spirals bounced too. "Come on, Bells -"

"Hey, its Mora here," I cut her off. "And besides, there's no way I can do it - how am I supposed to juggle the part if I get it, and work? Come on, Alice. Be real." I sigh, take another long pull from my drink, and Alice frowns. I'm definitely the realist of our friendship - but breaking her little heart does nothing for mine.

"All right," she says, shrugging. She spots a suit glancing around with cash in his hand at the rail of the bar, and slinks off, totally in her persona. That is what makes Alice and I such a good team - it might be hard, but we were getting by. She can turn on her flirty bartender personality like a light switch, going from bubbly little doll to sex kitten in the blink of an eye. On the other hand, I had to have a cocktail, take long deep breaths, and repeat in my head over and over, "_It's worth it. You can do this. Money. Money."_

Sometimes it even works.

* * *

"This is pitiful," Jasper Hale is saying, dragging his feet as we cross the parking lot. He's been a bummer all night long, practically crying into his micro-brew at the last bar we were at. Emmett and I exchange looks over the top of his hang-dog blonde head and roll our eyes. Breaking up is hard to do - especially when the dumpee is a certified genius, who can't turn off that big brain of his no matter how much alcohol we pump him with. "Half-naked women gyrating to awful music is supposed to cheer me up how?"

"Are you gay?" Emmett asks, stopping dead in his tracks. "Seriously dude, listen to that last sentence. Half naked women should _always_ put you in a good mood. Hello." He shakes his head and chuckles, and we're heading back up the big steps up to the club. Eclipse is located in a seedy part of Seattle, but it was the highest end strip club in the state. Inside it was all cool modern lines, little tables with black linens and dim glowing lights strategically placed around for anonymity and mystery. The stage was big, with a few dispersed poles and a wall of mirrors. A little runway jutted out beside the bar, and the private rooms were reportedly very lovely. I had never had the pleasure of making it back there, but Emmett promised it was worth the five hundred bucks.

"I just think that the way to get over Charlotte isn't by watching other naked girls," Jasper says, even as we're getting ID'd at the door and forking over our cover charge. There is a small Asian girl contorting in a truly magical way on the big pole on the runway, defying physics, gravity, and Emmett's brain as he gawks at her openly. Loud, classic rock pumps through the speakers, and there are people everywhere.

"Let's get a drink," I say, clapping Jasper on the back. He nods, glancing around as though he's hiding from his mother, and we head up to the bar. It's nearly one AM, and the club is in full swing. We aren't standing for five seconds when a slinky little redhead saunters over, wearing a black corset that pushes up her ample breasts in the most delightful way.

"Hey," she purs, and Jasper turns and his blue eyes widen considerably at the sight of her. "You guys interested in a dance?"

"We can't commit to anything yet," I say, winking at her. Her glossy pink lips quirk up into a smile and she nods. "Find us later."

"Promise to," she murmurs, before sashaying off. Her legs are long and white and I can't help but watch as she leaves.

"What in the sweet merciful fuck was that?" Jasper all but screams, grabbing me by my coat lapels. "Why did you bring me here?!"

"Calm down," I say, brushing him off and leaning against the bar. "You're acting like you've never seen tits before, Hale. Haven't I told you about keeping your cool?"

"I'm not cool," Jasper says, exasperated. "I'm one of the smartest guys in the entire Free World, and you bring me to a strip club where I'm assaulted by beautiful women? I can hardly talk to Siri on my phone, and Charlotte had to ask me out like five times before I could even mutter a positive reply. What. The. Fuck. Masen?"

"Sorry," I say with a shrug. "It's for your own good." Really, I might seem a big callous, but Jasper could be a cool guy if he wanted. He's good-looking, with messy blonde hair and big blue eyes and the kind of intelligence that NASA and the government have been after for years. If only he could transform his nervous energy into something constructive...

"Hey guys, what can I get you?" A thin, dark-haired girl with the biggest eyes asks, smiling at us in a polite, but can-you-hurry-the-fuck-up-I'm-busy way.

"What do you have on draft?" I ask, leaning on my elbows against the sleep black bar. In the mirror behind the stage, I can make out my reflection. Jasper is looking frazzled and keeps running his hand through his blonde curls and staring at his shoes, which truly are not that interesting. I look good - a little disheveled, but in a sexy way. I had on black slacks and a white button down Oxford beneath a gray blazer. I look like I have money, which I do. The big Rolex on my left wrist can speak to that, if my Armani loafers don't. We had gone out straight from the office, so it wasn't like I had a change of casual clothes. But my copper-bronze hair was messy, and the scruff on my face made me look rugged. I look like I had stepped out of GQ.

"Bud, Budlight, Coors Light, Miller Light, Blue Moon, Newcastle, Sam Adams..." She rattled off quickly.

"Three tall Blue Moons," I say, "and could I start a tab?" I toss my black AmEx on the bar and her eyebrows nearly disappear under her bangs.

"Sure thing," she says, squinting at the name on the card, "_Mr. Masen._"

"Thanks, doll." I wink and she does too, before spinning around the fix our drinks.

"Where did Emmett go?" Jasper asks, suddenly worried.

"Calm down," I say, and quickly find him standing at the edge of the stage. He's placing a few bills in this stripper's G-string, grinning up at her like she was Santa Claus, live in the flesh, and he was six years old. Ok, maybe thinking about kids in the strip club wasn't a good thing. She smiled down at him, flicking around her golden blonde curls, before spinning her back to him and bending over, rubbing her ass all over his big, muscular chest. He closed his eyes blissfully. "He's right over there."

"Where?" Jasper asks, before spotting him. His jaw immediately drops open, and the look he gave the redheaded dancer before seems like a mega-watt grin. "Holy _fuck._" Then he's off, stalking across the club like a man on a mission.

Great, apparently Emmett's about to get an earful about STD's or something, thanks to Jasper's preoccupation with illnesses and diseases. He's not a hypochondriac, really - he just finds the molecular level interesting or whatever. I'm not the genius, really - I'm just the one with the billion dollar ideas. Jasper is the one that puts them into practice.

"Hey man!" I call, starting after him. I grab the edge of his sweater but he pushes me off with strength I didn't know he had, and I nearly stumble and fall on my ass. Glaring now, I follow him over to our friend, who looks like he's died and gone to stripper heaven.

"Hey -" Emmett starts, but before he can finish his greeting, he's assaulted by Jasper's flying right hook, which lands directly on his cheek. Emmett is a big guy, but like most guys, he's a big baby too. He grabs his face, doubling over in surprise and pain. "What the fuck, Hale?"

"Rosalie," Jasper says, and he's breathing hard and his face is flushed. I've never seen him look so upset, and I have to admit that its entertaining - but surely scary if ever directed at me. He turns to the stage, where the blonde is fumbling to cover her exposed breasts - quite nice, if they're real. "Get down this _instant_."

"You're not my _dad_," the blonde, Rosalie, says, sounding like a petulant child.

"I don't give a fuck who I am. Get off this stage and put your clothes on." Jasper is firm, not taking no for an answer.

"Do you know this girl?" I ask, shocked as hell that Jasper, my genius, socially awkward, innocent best pal actually knows a stripper. I feel bad for the girl, as apparently he's taken it upon himself to make sure she doesn't disrespect herself or whatever... Always wanting to be Prince Charming and save the damsels in distress...

"Yes," Jasper says, turning his icy gaze on me. "That's my sister."


	2. I'm in Love with a Stripper

I'm in Love with a Stripper

almostfrances

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, and I am not profiting from this story. Simply borrowing the characters and makin' em do stuff.

Author Notes: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! As you can see, I switched the story name and edited a few things, such as page breaks, in the first chapter. I'm hoping that it makes things more smooth to read :] Please follow me on Twitter for updates and randomness from my life - frankienopants - as well as playlists for chapters if anyone is interested.

I'm glad that everyone is enjoying my portrayal of the characters. Jasper, if you can't tell, is modeled after Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory. Ever since I read the story **Ride **by **kris salvador**, where Jasper has Aspberger's (or something like that, I can't honestly remember but he was definitely a bit touched in an endearing way), I've fallen in love with the idea of him being a quirky, socially awkward nerdy guy. Hopefully Alice can handle him ;] Anyway, on to the story, what you all are here for anyway! Enjoy, and please review :]

Chapter Two

Got the body of a goddess

Got eyes butter pecan brown I see you girl

Droppin' low

She comin' down from the cielin'

To the floor

Yeah she know what she doin'

Yeah yeah yeah

She doin' that right thang

Yeah yeah yeah yeah

I need to get her over to my crib and do that night thang

'Cause I'm in love with a stripper

"I'm in Love with a Stripper," T-Pain

I'm about to push Rosalie Hale off the stage if she doesn't exit on her own accord. Stupid, leggy, tall blonde Barbie is causing a scene, as usual. Honestly, the only reason I dislike her is because she's the top money-maker at Eclipse - I'm number two. The only thing that sets us apart is the fact that her breasts are huge, her hair is blonde, and I have a sneaking suspicion that she probably intimidates men into paying her outrageous amounts of cash for private dances. Maybe she even has sex with the guys. Who the fuck cares - she's on my stage and my set is starting, and she needs to leave.

Alice is glancing around, holding three pints of beer in her little hands, looking confused. What is going on tonight? Must be a full moon.

I glare at Rosalie as she starts to cover herself up - the big muscled guy that she had danced on is looking startled, and out of nowhere Blondie, who looked like someone had pooped in his Wheaties, hauls off and slugs him right in the face. Good looking right hook for a dopey looking guy. With a sigh and an eye roll, I stomp across the stage to break up the chaos. Its part of the job.

"This guy bothering you?" I ask, jerking my finger at the blonde guy. Rosalie blinks down at me, and I'm not sure if it's because I'm coming to her aid or if the situation has her bamboozled. Probably a healthy mixture of both.

"Rosalie, get down this _instant_! I am not joking!" Blondie is attempting to climb up on the stage, a big no-no that could land him in jail, and I glance over my shoulder to see Laurent throwing his hands up and reaching for the phone. _Shit. _

"Look dude," I say, shoving him down to the floor. "Rosalie's set is done, so she needs to get off the stage so I can make some money. You need to leave."

"He's just emotional." I gaze at one of his comrades, and ignore the immediate tingle that settles over me. I don't like to admit to anyone that I find guys attractive. I'm a one-girl wolf pack, and there's no room for a man in my life. Strippers, porn stars, hookers - we can't keep up relationships, at least not for long, and they usually end badly. Occasionally black body bag badly. And I like breathing too much to let my pussy control that. "He just got dumped, and apparently found out that his sister is a stripper..." He's the yummiest thing I've ever seen or heard, and my heart beats erratically in my chest. Cool green eyes peer out beneath disheveled bronze hair, hair that looks like he just got done fucking the shit out of some female. Too handsome for his own good, chiseled cheekbones and full, soft looking lips.

Shut up, brain. Or vagina. Whatever.

"Why don't you guys go sit over there," I say, pointing to one of the back corner booths that is empty, "and let me get back to work."

"And no more hitting!" Rosalie adds, pointing at her brother.

"Wait til mom and dad hear about this," Blondie says, shaking his head. He seems so disappointed, and I immediately feel pity for big beautiful Rosalie.

"Thanks," Rosalie says, pulling on her bikini top as we cross the stage. The customers have happily ignored the little skirmish, and Laurent smiles menacingly at me from the DJ booth above. I resist the urge to flip him the bird, knowing that he would only see it as an offer and try to take me up on it. But there's no way his dirty, dread-head would ever be on my pillow, between my legs, or within six inches of my face. Ugh.

"Look, I know it sucks," I say, becoming impatient. This little pow-wow was cutting into my money, and fucking with a pissed of strippers money was a hanging offense 'round these parts. "But just go talk to him, maybe feed him enough alcohol to make him think he hallucinated it all. I don't know."

Rosalie's icy gaze meets mine briefly, and she nods her golden head and disappears back stage. My first song is basically over, and I take a deep breath, gazing at my reflection in the mirror as the beginning of my "for the masses song," track starts. Cliche, but fitting - T-Pain's auto-tune fills the club with the love ballad for the unlovable. "I'm in Love with a Stripper." I rake a hand through my dark hair, which looks red highlighted in the stage lights. Slowly, in my Mora Mode, I start to roll my hips to the beat, wrapping my hand around the cold pole.

_Turn it on, baby. Work it._

* * *

"That was fucking stupid," Emmett whines, still holding his rapidly purpling face. "Nice arm though. But stupid."

"You almost got us kicked out," I add. I spot the little bartender flouncing over, our beer in hand. "Thanks." I take them off her hands and she puts them on her narrow hips.

"You know, fighting over a stripper isn't the best idea," she says, gazing pointedly at Jasper. He nods, and tips back his beer for a long drink. "I mean, you're really lucky the bouncer didn't throw you out on your ass."

"Well, when you find out your baby sister is taking off her clothes for money, you let me know how it feels," Jasper says, finally looking up, misery all over his face, blue eyes meeting her dark ones. But then that look is erased, like a white board, and is replaced with shock.

"What? Did my lipstick smear?" Bar-keep immediately starts wiping around her bow-shaped pout, worried.

"No, not at all," Jasper says in a funny, kind of high voice. "Your face..."

"My face _what_?"

"It's just... Perfectly symmetrical." Emmett and I share a look and groan, sinking lower in the booth. Jasper has found a new love, and being drunk has given him the guts to compliment her in his weird way. She cocks her head to the side but smiles at him, and Jasper gulps. "You're a perfect specimen. Except that most men find girls with small chests less appealing, as evolution has told us that women with larger breasts are more fertile -"

"Um, buddy," I say, patting his shoulder, "you're going down hill."

"But I don't really like big breasts. So that's even better."

"Um, thanks," she says, but she's smiling in not in that polite, get-me-out-of-here way. "I have to get back to work, you know, 'cause I'm not here for my health. But let me know if you need anything." Jasper is lost watching the sway of her hips as she heads back to the bar, and I want to smack him upside the head. What a night - I never knew that taking Jasper to a strip club would be such a terrible idea.

"Lets just relax," Emmett says, though he keeps glancing at Jasper out of the corner of his eye as though he expects him to lunge at him again. "And enjoy the beauty that is naked girls dancing."

"Here, here," I agree, and we all three cheers to that. I sink back in the booth, turning my gaze to the stage, where the delicious little number that had broken up the scuffle earlier was wrapped around the pole, upside down. Her long dark curls brush the floor, and her legs are the only thing holding her up - except one slowly extends away from the pole, long and slender and the palest porcelain, and she somehow begins to revolve as she slips down achingly slow. Pretty girls were not uncommon in a strip club - but beautiful ones, with creamy clear skin and thick dark hair and the most beautiful pair of perky breasts. Well, those were rare - they either starred in pornos or lived normal lives. What could a girl like her be doing in a place like this? Down on her luck? Abusive childhood leading to adult psychosis? Did her father leave her, an uncle touch her? It is probably rude to ponder as I'm enjoying her assets, but I can not turn my brain off.

"She's good," Emmett says, letting out a whoop as she demurely turns her back to the crowd. There are bills flying in the air as she unhooks her bra, but keeps her breasts covered. She struts to the mirror, her juicy ass peeking out of lacy shorts oh-so temptingly... She really knows how to work a crowd.

Leaning forward, she arches her back and presses her tits up against the mirror. That ass - oh, that ass is perfectly presented and I want it in my face in the next twenty seconds. In a flash, she twists around, head thrown back and breasts fully exposed - her arms are up above her head, and she's practically panting.

My dick is about to explode through my slacks. I have a fucking boner, in public, which has not happened since I was much, much younger. I bite my lip, wanting to look away and think about baseball or old lady snatch or Emmett after a long work out in the gym, smelling like a bad diaper. Its impossible. She has me under her fucking thumb, looking so innocent and beautiful as she slinks around the stage. I want to punch the kid who waves a bill at her from the edge of the stage, and she crawls towards him with a predatory look in her dark eyes. Licking her plump red lips, she lays back with her legs spread and back arched as he fumbles with the money, hooking it into her panties. I want to snap his fucking neck.

"You all right?" Jasper asks. I snap out of my trance, thankful that something has distracted me.

"What? Yeah, why?" I ask.

"Well," Emmett says, sounding to smug for my liking. "I'm pretty sure that you are about to bite your lip off. And you're sweating."

I wipe my hand over my forehead, it comes away wet. _Fuck. Fucking hell. FUCK!_

"I'm going to hit the head," I say, and hurry away from my fucking retarded friends as quickly as possible, hoping not to lance anyone with my raging erection on the way. This is not good, I realize. I can't lust after a stripper. As the founder of Facespace, I can't really do much that would seriously harm my career. Dating a stripper, well - that would be a heyday for the tabloids, and my mother would probably have a stroke.

_What makes you think she would even date you_? A little douchey voice in my mind asks, and I glance at my reflection in the mirror. Oh, she would date me. Fuck me, at the very least, and more than once or twice. Most girls wanted a ring after they had been held sexually hostage in my penthouse for a few days, but I wasn't into the commitment thing. There are too many beautiful, ripe women in the world, and I am too eager to taste them all.

I wash my hands and splash some cold water on my face, using the rough paper towel to pat myself dry. I take a deep breath, and will my boner to go away. What a fucking night.


	3. Lollipop

I'm in Love with a Stripper

almostfrances

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, nor am I profiting from this story. Just borrowing.

Author's Notes: Thank you to everyone that has reviewed, favorited, or followed my story! It really takes my breath away to even get any feedback, or that you guys like this at all! THANKS! Follow me on twitter - **frankienopants_ -_**for updates and randomness. I'm updating more than I initially anticipated, so I hope you guys don't mind :] One of my reviewers said they hoped this story wasn't simply about Bella being a stripper affecting Edward's reputation, but fret not friend! This goes much deeper than that. I know I labeled it as rom/com, but its more of a dramedy. There is a lot of psychosis on Bella's part, and Edward as well. That's what happens in the world today, I think. All this technology and fame and whatever makes it impossible to truly have real relationships, and due to texting and facebook and all that bologna, its harder than every (thouh easier at the same time) to communicate with people... Just be prepared for all of that.

Chapter Three

Shawty wanna thug

Bottles in the club

Shawty wanna hump

You know I'd like to touch you're lovely lady lumps

- "Lollipop," Lil Wayne

"Go sit with those guys," Alice says, handing me a tray with a pitch of beer and a few frozen mugs, along with something pink and fruit-decorated for me. "Mr. GQ has a black AmEx, the one with all the muscles is injured, and the blonde one is mine. I have official dibs."

"Ew, dibs on Rosalie's brother? You can have him," I say, carefully balancing the tray. "Plus, he's got some anger issues, if he swings on his best friend." Alice shrugs with that dreamy princess look that she gets, and I shake my head. I've changed into a red silk slip, the exact shade as my lipstick, and pinned my curls up in a messy little bun. The Japanese believe that the back of the neck is a beautiful, sensual thing - and I took their ancient wisdom seriously.

"Just go over there," Alice says, shooing me off. "Before Laurent fires us."

"He would never," I say, grinning big before heading off. I smile at all the customers, even the ones occupied with my coworkers. I do not have a lot of friends here, and that's all right by me. I let my haters be my motivators - and the less they like me, the better I do. Jealousy is an ugly thing. There was a lot of jealousy circling this club.

"Hey guys," I say, setting the tray down on the edge of the table. "Mind if I join you for a drink?"

"Of course," the big muscular one says, taking the pitcher and filling up everyone's mug. "Sorry about earlier."

"Why are you sorry? You're the one that got hit," I say.

"Still," he says, "I didn't mean to create a problem at your place of work. My deepest apologies." He grins, and I instantly feel my heart warm up to him. He's a big teddy bear, behind all those intimidating, steroid induced muscles. I took a sip of my drink, which was stronger than the last, and winced at the bite to it.

"I'm sorry too," Blondie says. He seems genuine, and I nod in acceptance.

"Well, I'm not sorry for anything," the third member of the group, the beautiful David reincarnated, drawls, spreading his arms over the back of the booth. I arch an eyebrow at him, resisting the urge to say some smart ass remark. He's the one with the tab and the money. I have to play nice.

"How... Nice, for you," I say, smiling tightly. "What brings you guys to Eclipse tonight?"

"Well, Jasper here just got dumped," says the unapologetic guy, patting Blondie on the shoulder. "And we thought a night on the town would cheer him up. However, it seems that our brilliant plan backfired."

"I'd say so," the big one grumbles. He rubs his eye gingerly as he drains his drink.

"No, I'm having a good time," Jasper says with a big smile. "The bartender is a truly immaculate specimen of femininity, so symmetrical. Her face is perfect."

I raise my eyebrows. That has to be the weirdest, but most sweetly intended compliment I have ever heard. I decide that as long as I'm on the good side, Blondie - er, Jasper - is not a bad guy.

"That's good. Sorry about your break up," I say. "That sucks."

"I'm Edward, by the way," says Cocky, leaning closer to me. "Edward Masen." The name is familiar, and the way he's looking at me, expectantly, makes me feel like I should know who he is. Or that he thinks I should know who he is.

"I'm Jasper, and that's Emmett," Jasper says, and I smile at each of them in turn. Edward Masen is still holding those eyes - so green, they remind me of the evergreen trees in the woods up at my dad's in Forks. Why do the hot ones have to be so annoying?

"I'm Mora," I say.

"Mora, that's pretty," Edward says. "Does it mean anything special?"

I lick my lips, turning on the charm, and lean to whisper in his ear huskily, "It means sweet... little... berry." My breath is surely warm on the skin of his scruffy cheek, and I feel him tense up beside me. Perfect. I take a big gulp of my drink as I sit back, thinking that at least he's eye candy if not ear candy.

"So, are you single?" Jasper asks.

Oh God. I rub the back of my neck awkwardly, thinking that I would make better money if I said I was married but I really enjoyed the attention so much, that I was so wild and horny that I couldn't resist the call of the stage. If I claim singledom, it makes men think they have a chance at getting me home. However, I haven't had sex since I broke up with Jake six months ago.

I have heard a rumor that if you don't use it, you lose it. And I'm certain that it was lost a few weeks ago, and a life of celibacy lays ahead of me. Funny, living like a nun but taking my clothes off for money. I'm a walking contradiction. Like Skittles.

"Uh oh," I say, glancing at my drink. I manage to drink nearly all of it without realizing while I'm chatting, and now my thoughts are jumbled and silly. Run-on sentences are one of my issues when drinking - along with extreme honesty.

And my libido rears its stupid horny head.

"What?" Emmett asks, and I put my hand to my forehead to clear my head.

"Oh, I think I just need some air," I say, shaking my head. "Thanks for chatting, I'll catch you guys later. If not, have a good evening."

"Mora -" Edward says, catching my wrist before I can make my hasty exit. I whip around to look at him, and the heat in his gaze makes my core heat even more. _Fuck_. I am liquid desire, and I need to get out of here.

"Excuse me," I say, snatching my wrist back. I click-clack quickly to the back door, ignoring Alice as she calls after me. My head is suddenly swimming, and I am breathing hard. I lean against the rough brick building once outside, close my eyes.

"Need a smoke?"

I glance over to find Rosalie leaning against the wall as well, wearing a fluffy white robe and her heels. She offers me a cigarette, and though I'm not a smoker, I accepted. She lights it for me, and I take a deep drag.

"What a fucking night. My nut job brother and his stupid friends show up and ruin my best money night," she says, sounding disappointed. I study her face in the parking lot lights, and again realize that she is a level of pretty that I could never reach. Not even with plastic surgery.

"He seems nice," I say.

"He's practically retarded, he's so smart. I mean, he's like that guy that was on Jeopardy for like twenty weeks in a row. He knows _everything_," Rosalie says, sounding bitter. "And all I got was the looks. I'm a stereotype."

"I'm sure that's not true," I say, and maybe I'm being nice because I'm buzzing.

"No, it is. I barely graduated high school," Rosalie sighs. "But I know one thing, and that's money. And I know how to make a lot of it without busting my ass too hard. Plus, I love to wear make up and outfits. So it works out."

"But your family..."

"Wouldn't approve," she says. She pitches her butt and chuckles. "I'm going to be disinherited, but I should be all right. Make a boatload of money, retire to Florida, become a mom or something."

"Awfully wholesome for a stripper," I reply, smirking.

"Yes, well," Rosalie says, straightening up and clutching the neck of her robe. "I _am_ a Born-Again Christian, so it's not like I have no morals. Just 'cause I take off my clothes, it doesn't define me. You know?"

I blink at her. "You're awfully smart for a dumb blonde stripper."

"Hey, thanks," she says, laughing. Even her laugh is beautiful. "I gotta get back in there - my Asian regular will be here in a bit, and he likes to talk to me in Chinese or whatever and rub my feet."

"Gotta love those," I joke. She heads inside and I finish my cigarette, feeling much calmer though slightly weirded out at having such a normal, non-catty conversation with Rosalie without Alice there to buffer our attitudes. I flick my butt, take a deep, steadying breath, and reach for the door handle when I hear my name.

"Mora."

Her mouth hangs open as I approach her. Hands jammed into my pants pocket, half in trying to hide any bulge that may happen to and to keep myself from reaching out and touching that delicate, silky looking skin of her's. She's... Well, her perky little nipples are pressing against the little slip she's wearing, dark red, and I want to suck one peak into my lips and taste the fabric as it rubs against her flesh. I want to taste the skin beneath as well, and many fantasies assault me as I reach her.

"Um, please don't rape me," she says, breathing hard and taking a defense stance.

"Whoa!" I exclaim, throwing my hands up. "I'm not going to rape you. What the fuck?"

"We're in a dark parking lot, alone, and I'm next to naked." She lists these off on her fingers.

"You watch too much Law and Order," I say, shaking my head but smiling. "I'm not going to touch you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay." And get another whiff of that delicious scent of hers - freesia, specifically, and some sweet scent that reminded me of sugar or frosting or cookies or Christmas or maybe all of that together.

"Yeah, I'm ok. Thanks." She glances anxiously around.

"Something wrong?"

"It's just that I can get in trouble for this," she says, gesturing between us. "You know, someone could get the wrong idea... Think something illegal is going on."

"Oh, right," I say, shaking my head. "Of course. Listen, I know this is forward and you probably get this all the time. But I'd like to spend more time with you, Mora." Her face is a mixture of surprise and confusion, cheeks blooming the most becoming shade of pink. God, she really is gorgeous. A blushing stripper. How sweet.

"Well, I'm here almost every night. Except for Sundays and Mondays, when we're closed," she says slowly.

"Ok, so can I take you out, Sunday?" I ask, and she backs up against the wall when I step closer. Frightened little thing. If she only knew. "Dinner, drinks?"

She bites her lip, that full red, ripe bottom up that I want to bite myself, and her cheeks grow crimson. "Hey," she says, stepping forward. Her finger is jabbing me in the chest, and I reflexively flex my chest muscles so she can feel just how toned they are beneath this shirt. "I might be a stripper, but I'm not a prostitute. You can go _fuck_ yourself, Edward." In a flash of dark hair, she flies through the door and slams it behind her.


	4. Bartender

I'm in Love with a Stripper

almostfrances

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, nor am I profiting from this story.

Author's Notes: Thank you to everyone that has read, reviewed, favorited, or followed this story! It's so rewarding :] You all make my day a little brighter. Anyway, I hope that you are all enjoying the ride so far. Please follow me on Twitter - **frankienopants **- for story updates and other shiz. Please review, it lets me know how I'm doing and possibly makes me writer faster... LOL. On with the madness, shall we?

Chapter Four

Oh she made us drinks, to drink

We drunk 'em, got drunk

And then I think she thinks I'm cool

She gave me a wink, I winked back

And then I think that, we hit it off something proper like...

I like the bartender

(Oh if you're lookin' for me)

I'm at the bar with her

"Bartender," T-Pain ft. Akon

I'm still fuming, the next day, when I wake up around noon and roll out of bed. The night was a bust - I only made a few hundred bucks, after tipping out the bartender, the DJ, and Laurent, and it all went to the rent. I pulled on my fluffy Hello Kitty robe and a pair of slippers, yawning my way into the kitchen. Chipper as ever, Alice is making pancakes and bacon, and there is already a pot of coffee waiting for me. Why would I want to date someone when I had Alice to take care of me?

"Good morning, sunshine," she says, sing-song. "The birds are chirping, its... Overcast." She giggles and spins around our small kitchen. We have a tiny two bedroom apartment, but its in a family neighborhood. Coming home at three AM is not a worry here, not with our crazy ex-Marine neighbor Aro, who threatens every stranger that passes by his block. It's expensive in the city, and that's part of why we have the jobs we do. That, and that we both had student debt to pay off.

"Whats got you in such a good mood?" I grumble, flopping into my seat at our two-person table. Immediately, I take a long sip of my coffee and relax.

"I got a number last night. And it wasn't a sleazy guy with a beer gut or some weird foot fetish," Alice gushes. Her dark eyes are sparkling and there is more life in her eyes than I have seen in a while... Warning lights go off in my brain. Alice is the kind of girl who easily falls in love, and gets her hopes up way too high. I have a feeling that this is going to be bad - or will be bad, in a few weeks, when he stops calling and texting. Leaving me, once again, to pick up the pieces.

"Alice..."

"Come on, Bella," she says, slipping into her seat opposite of me. "He's so sweet, and I really think that it could turn into something." Her eyes are pleading.

"Alice, how many times have you said that before? Literally?" I ask, and her shoulders sag in defeat. "I'm just looking out for you. I don't want you to get hurt."

"I know, I know," she says, gazing forlornly at her plate of breakfast foods. She had even made a smiley face on her pancakes, with blue berry eyes and a whipped cream smile. Poor baby.

I hate to see her like this, and I feel my resistance crumbling. "Maybe he will be different. What can one date hurt, right?"

"Oh, Bella, you'll see," she says, bouncing in her seat with a megawatt grin. "Promise! He's really different. His name is Jasper, and he's like a _genius_. At least, thats what his friend told me."

"Jasper, the guy that punched the other guy in the face? Rosalie's brother?" I ask, surprised. I mean yeah, the compliment last night was endearing and everything, but I definitely did not expect her to get his phone number and consider an actual date. Let alone get this excited about it.

"The very one," she sang, giggling. "He's so cute. OhmiGOD, Bella! SO CUTE!"

"Ok, I get it," I say, attempting to calm her down. Getting her all amped up in the afternoon only means she'll crash a few hours into our shifts, and a sleepy, grumpy bartending Alice is never a good thing. Just then, the electronic beep of her cell goes off, and she scrambles to find it in the apartment. When she retrieves it, I hear a loud, nearly ear-piercing squeal.

"ITS HIM!" she cries, and I lift my fork and begin digging into my pancakes. It's going to be a long day.

* * *

"Whats the bee in your bonnet?" Jasper asks, breezing into my living room like he owned the place. Actually, _I_ own the place. The entire building. I just happen to reside in the penthouse, with a gorgeous view overlooking the city, with a private balcony and helipad like a cherry on top of my real estate cake.

"What?" I ask, truly flummoxed.

"You look like someone "got your goat," or whatever," Jasper says, flopping onto the plush leather couch across from the one I was sprawled on. The big flat screen on the wall is playing some football game, one that I am not the least bit interested in. No, my mind keeps wandering back to the dark haired vixen from Eclipse, Miss Mora, and her sweet little berry that has me in such a tizzy.

Obviously, I'm in a tizzy. If I'm using the word _tizzy_. It's such a Jasper-ism.

"No, just recovering from last night," I tell him. He nods.

"Hangovers can be a beast," he agrees. "I took two Asprin and a glass of water before I fell asleep last night - even though you aren't supposed to take drugs that thin your blood while drinking, because the alcohol thins your blood already."

"Thanks, Dr. Hale," I snark, rolling my eyes. "Did you need something?"

"Well, actually," he starts, and I glance over to find him running his palms anxiously over the tops of his thighs. This nervous habit developed sometime after sixth grade, when he held hands with this blonde bitch Jane, who then told him he had sweaty hands and that she never wanted to hold hands with him again. Poor guy.

"Spit it out," I say, gesturing for him to go on.

"The thing is, I know that I just broke up with Charlotte. But that girl last night was amazing." He fidgets and won't meet my gaze.

"Uh huh."

"And I want to go back and see her. But I don't want to go alone, because going alone to a strip club seems even worse than going to a bar by oneself, and I'm already weird enough on my own without seeming like some sleazy sex addict alcoholic."

"You aren't _weird_, Jasper," I say instantly, hating when he gets like this. Jasper might be socially awkward and yeah, he's a fucking weirdo, but he's been my best friend since as long as I can remember. Life isn't easy for him, and I only feel worse when he puts himself down.

"Edward, I'm weird. I know this." He grins at me. "But I also really like this girl."

"You don't even know her," I reply. This is what happens with Jasper. He gets an idea in his mind, and he can't let it go. It's a compulsion. Sometimes, like when I came up with a mass social media network to connect students and friends and musicians and families and models and everyone in the world, it works in my favor. All I had to do was tell Jasper my idea, and he developed the website within a few weeks in his dorm room freshmen year. Emmett is our promoter, passing out flyers, mass emails, and flirting with girls to get them to join. Even Oprah had a Facespace page, and that was one of my biggest accomplishments. With the money from the site, which was still raking in and wouldn't stop any time soon, I went into the real estate business. I'm making a killing.

"No, but when I gave her my number last night, she texted me right away," Jasper says. "And I like promptness. She seems so..."

"Perky? Annoying?" I ask, but I'm just teasing. I can tell by the dumb moony look on Jasper's face that there will be no dissuasion on this matter; he's a goner. Fine, fine. I guess I can try to make a better impression on the beautiful and difficult Mora, if I'm going to be there anyway.

"I promise, we won't be there long. And I'll pay," he adds, as though this is a tipping point. "I just want to pop in and say hello and make sure she remembers me."

"You're texting her, remember?"

"Right, but I mean, remembers my _face_. She says its symmetrical too," he admits, turning pink to the roots of his hair.

"Aw, puppy love." I chuckle and Jasper slaps his knees, standing up. "I'm going to invite Emmett, too."

"Hey, did you ever talk to your sister?" I ask as he's on his way to the elevator.

"Shit!" he exclaims. "I got so distracted by my hormones that I completely forgot about my sinful sister and her public nudity."

"That's one way to put it," I murmur under my breath.

"I'll have to call her... Jeez, what a mess," he adds, shaking his blonde head before pushing the call button for the elevator. It arrives quickly and slides open smoothly, and he steps in. "Ten o'clock, Masen!" he calls, before the doors shut on him.

I sigh and reach for the remote, flipping around and pondering my situation. I'm a twenty-seven year old billionaire, with plenty of girls on deck waiting for my call. I have money to blow, Swiss bank accounts and investments. I'm on the Forbes top twenty list, two years running, and I'm a handsome motherfucker. There is no way that I can't get that girl on a date with me - it just might take some finessing.

With a devious grin, I settle back into my comfortable sofa and fold my hands on my chest. I'd come up with something - and she would be unable to refuse me.

* * *

"Jasper's here!" Alice whisper/squeals into my ear as I'm passing by the bar. She yanks me so hard that I nearly topple out of my shoes, and I shoot her a death glare. "Sorry, but look! He's here!" She points to the booth that they had been in last night, and I immediately notice Jessica crawling all over Edward. Her neon pink bikini glows under the black lights, and he seems to be enjoying the dance.

"Swell," I deadpan. I rake a hand through my hair, which I straightened earlier into a glossy, silky sheen. I'm wearing my favorite money-making dress - it's blood-red, my favorite color to wear, and skin-tight with a short skirt and plunging neckline. My black leather stiletto boots went up over my knees, and it was easier to climb the pole with the boots between my flesh and the metal. Plus, it didn't bruise my pale skin up.

"Go _talk_ to him, make sure he gets your seal of approval," she insists, pushing me towards them.

"Don't you have drinks to make?" I snap, and she rolls her eyes as I stalk over.

"Hey, Mora," says Jasper, standing immediately and shaking my hand. I bite back my grin and laugh, as I can tell that he's extremely nervous and hoping to make a good impression. He's wearing nice dark jeans, a button down, blue shirt with a black blazer over it. He's even wearing a fedora, and somehow it looks cute on him - not nerdy in the least. "Here, have a seat with us." He pulls up a chair and I thank him politely.

"Hows it going?" Emmett asks, slugging back his beer. He raises his mug and I'm sure, since Alice is watching like a hawk, that she's busy filling him another.

"Pretty good," I say, trying to ignore the soft moans coming from Jessica as she grinds on Edward's lap. I'm doing anything not to look his way, not to be enveloped in his green gaze again. I'm not a prostitute, I can't be bought, and that he even entertained the idea makes me want to vomit, makes my skin crawl. I'm filling up with anger again, and I take a few steadying breaths.

"Here ya go," Alice says, handing Emmett his beer, smiling sweetly at him in the process. "And here's a drink for you, Be-Mora." Her eyes go wide as saucers, and before I can murder her she's tottering back to the bar faster than the wind. She has slipped up with my fake name a few times, and it never fails to make me angry.

Is the universe conspiring to piss me off, or what? I inwardly shake my head and resist the urge to yank Jessica off of Edward by her stupid clip in extensions. Wait, why would I do that? She deserves him. And his grimy, buy his way... ways...

I take a big gulp of my drink, hardly tasting it, and force on a tight smile.

"Mora, can't you see I'm working here?" Jessica asks, pausing her gyrations to glare at me. Her breasts are pushed up and spilling out of her bikini top, and her skin is a golden tan that my skin will never achieve.

"The more the merrier," Edward says, patting her ass. I want to slap his hand off of her rump, but why? Ugh, my body is confusing. I finish my drink in another gulp, and stand up.

"Well guys, its been real," I say, before turning on my heel and disappearing. I hate to think it, but fuck this budding relationship between Alice and Jasper. If they want to be together, so be it. If they want to fuck each other up emotionally, which will inevitably happen, then go for it. But I will not be a part of it. I slam my empty cocktail glass on the bar, glaring daggers, and Alice intuitively knows that I need another. She fills it without a word, and I head back stage to touch up my make-up and slip into my stage outfit. I'm feeling frisky, so I opt for the sluttiest, most porn star lingerie I have. A black corset that pushed my breasts up high and made them look larger than they actually are, paired with ruffle boyshorts a size to small, so that my ass cheeks hung out. With my boots and red lipstick, I look like sin on heels. That's the point, right?


	5. 5

I'm in Love with a Stripper

almostfrances

Rating: M

A/N: Sorry for the delay! My boyfriend has been playing this stupid pirate battle game on FB with his dad, and he' hijacked my computer. I can't even get a new chapter written :[ unless i stay up all night long and sleep during the day, which he refuses to allow happen... Sigh. Anyway, I hope you all love this, please let me know what you think! **Frankienopants** - Twitter. Follow me!

SORRY about the no lyrics for this chapter, my brain isn't working and I have to go get a fucking crockpot. Ok, onward! Ignore the mistakes, I'm working on fixing them when I'm not on a crock pot pursuit.

Chapter Five

I know I was getting to her, by the way she was downing her girly little drink and glaring daggers at the skank on my lap. I was drinking an aged cognac that was smoky and rich, and I sipped it slowly while watching her. I feel electric in her presence, I feel alive as I watch her flick her hair and lick her lip and the way that dress fits her, its a second skin. I want to slowly peel it from her trembling body, kiss my way down that flat, creamy tummy to her sweet little berry. God, what a name. I pray that she is as sweet as she seems.

"How about we take this somewhere private?" Jessica asks, and I want to shove her off of me. She's a plain, typical stripper, smelling like she bathed in sicky-sweet perfume and glittering like a fairy all over her body. Her hand snakes down to my lap, and she frowns at what she finds - or what she doesn't find. Even with Mora sitting there, I couldn't get it up with Jessica pawing at me.

"No thank you," I say, fishing a twenty out of my wallet for her troubles. "Off you go."

She snatches the money from my hand, pouting, before moving on to her next victim.

"There's your girl," Jasper says, nodding at the stage.

"She's not my girl," I snap, but my eyes are fixed. She's so fucking gorgeous, and I'm hard immediately. Those boots. I want to run my fingers up her thighs and between her legs to the treasure that is surely beneath those tiny shorts. Her hair is so long, and straight tonight, reaching halfway down her back. I wonder if its as soft and silky as it looks. The song is slow, and the woman's voice is haunting as she purs the lyrics. Mora slinks across the stage, sidling up to the pole and slowly swinging herself around. The things that she can do with her body is truly astounding, and my dick twitches in agreeance.

"You should go up there," Jasper says, far too eager. Where did he get the idea that I want her? Was I truly that obvious?

"Good idea," Emmett says, but before he can climb out of the booth, I'm halfway across the floor, navigating the crowd. Everyone seems as transfixed by Mora as I am, and I want to haul her off the stage, carry her somewhere private, and bury myself inside of her. I'm becoming a rapist, and its all her fault.

I stand at the end of the stage, waiting patiently. I know she can see me, and I know she's probably trying to ignore me. But she _is_ a stripper, and she needs the money. This is her job. She can't ignore that.

I dig out my wallet and find two fifties, which I hold up for her.

"Lay back on the stage, put the money in your mouth." I glance down and find Alice, the bartender and owner of Jasper's heart, standing beside me with an empty tray balanced against her hip. "She'll have to grab it out with her tits. Or her ass. That's how its done."

"Thanks, Pint-Size," I say, patting her on the head. She scowls before moving on, and I take her advice. Awkwardly, I lay down on my back, putting the money - ignoring that I was going to get an insane lecture from Jasper about how many germs are on money and how I'm going to catch the bubonic plague - in my mouth. I can practically hear her teeth grinding in irritation.

Moments later, she's on top of me. And by on top of me, I mean her knees are on either side of my head, her pussy mere inches from my face. I inhale the scent, and am immediately transported. God, fucking delicious. I want to devour her. She flips around, straddling my waist, and her hair tickles my cheeks as she leans forward.

"You're breathtaking," I whisper, and she grinds against me, and I bite back a moan at the sensation.

"You're disgusting," she replies, nonchalantly. "Thanks though." She smooshes her boobs together, centimeters from my lips, and plucks the cash out. I want to slide my hands over her ass, over her arms, I want to tear off her clothing and pull her hair as I fuck her from behind. I want her in one of my button downs, barefoot in my kitchen early morning. I want her on the kitchen table, pressed up against the expensive view I owned, stark naked.

She will be mine. Oh yes, she will be mine.

* * *

"What a fucking sleazeball," I gripe, throwing the hundred bucks - plus the other assorted tips I had made - into my Ghostbusters lunch box, which I kept padlocked in my locker in the dressing room.

"Um, I have no idea what you're complaining about," Rosalie says, glancing over from the mirror. She smacks her pink lips together and drops the lipstick back into her make up purse. "That guy is hot, and if he works with my brother, he's gotta be super rich."

"Yeah, well, money isn't everything," I snap, slipping back into my red dress from earlier. I rake a hand through my hair and sigh heavily. Going back out there seems like a terrible idea, but I still have three more hours of this nightmare before going home. And honestly, I really needed to work it tonight. Like _bad_.

"Honey," Rosalie says, arching an eyebrow at me, "you're a stripper. If you aren't doing this for the money, why the fuck are you _here_?"

"To piss off my daddy." I smile a big fake grin before trudging back to the floor. I spot a group of young guys, probably barely eighteen and simply here to see the titties, not drink, and I can't help but stop. Hopefully I can swindle them out of their parents' money. I turn on my Mora mode, slinking up to them and flipping my hair over a shoulder.

"Hey guys," I say huskily, and their conversation stops dead. "Can I join you for a drink?"

"Fuck yes!" the pimply faced kid says, practically bouncing in his seat. I grin - its endearing, I suppose. I pull up a seat and flag down the cocktail waitress, a bored-looking, kind of mousy girl with glasses, named Angel.

"What can I get for you?" she asks.

"Just have Alice make me something sweet," I say, smiling politely. "And another round for these guys."

She nods, ignoring the fact that they all have sodas, and the guys look like they are about to explode from excitement. There is the pimply-faced kid with glasses, and then a blonde with spiky hair that could have stepped out of the Jersey Shore - wanna be albino guido. The other kid was baby-faced with brown hair.

"So, um, whats your name?" asks the Albino Guido.

"Mora," I reply, keeping up my smile even though my cheeks are beginning to ache. "Are you gentlemen from around here? College students?"

"Yeah," Baby-Face says quickly - too fast for it to be true.

"Awesome. I was majoring in theater when I went to school," I tell them, even though I could tell them I went to be an astronaut and they wouldn't give a fuck.

"Here you go," Angel says, sliding my cocktail in front of me. It's my third tonight, and I'm feeling pretty good. Good enough to flirt with these babies, and maybe anyone else that may want a dance. I need the money. And I'm not having a horrible time now.

"Would any of you guys be interested in a dance?" I ask, sliding my hand over Guido's shoulder, which is about as buff as my Grandma Swan's had been before she passed away.

"Oh God," he groans. "How much is it?"

"One hundred a song," I pur, grinning as I turned to Baby Face. He gulps when I size him up, raking my eyes from his down to his groin... Never wear loose pants to a strip club, I think with a chuckle, at his small bulge. It was nothing like Edward's.

Oh God, that's awful, I think. Edward's dick had felt like a hot rod between my legs, impossibly hard and bigger than I had anticipated. I had to resist the urge to rock my hips against his when I took the tip from him, to not smother him with my breasts. He was so _fucking_ hot. It must be the alcohol thinking, because suddenly I can only see his heated green gaze penetrating my eyes, my soul, warming my flesh and parts of me that have been dormant for quite some time.

"Here," Pimply-Face says, handing me a fistful of twenties, and I coo appreciatively. A song is three minutes, and if a track is longer, the DJ will taper it off. As "Cherry Pie" started, I stood up and Pimply Face scooted back his chair to make room for me. I was a professional at the private dance - I could usually get two or three songs if I wasn't even trying. All I did was lose myself in the music, sway and run my fingers over my skin. Being drunk only made this all the easier. I am a bit wobbly on my heels, but that does not stop me from dancing. Pimple's jaw is hanging open as I ghost my fingers over his chest, circling his chair and running my fingers over his short hair. He takes a deep breath and releases it as I straddle his lap, rolling my hips against him.

"You're so beautiful," he whimpers, hands clenching the edge of his seat. I slide my breasts over his face, making him groan, and giggle. Finally, the song ends, and I slip back into my own seat.

"Damn," Albino Guido says, shaking his head. "You are one fine piece."

"Thanks," I pur. "Would you like a dance as well?"

"Actually, Mora," drawls the French accented voice of the last person I want to deal with, Laurent, "I have a special customer interested in your company. Sorry gentlemen." He smiles apologetically at the guys, and Pimples looks as though he has reached heaven in a strip club.

"Who is it this time?" I ask, clutching my drink as Laurent drags me to the private rooms. The bouncers nod as they let us in, and its all seperate rooms with beads hanging over the doorways for a semblance of privacy. I hear a strained moan from a room further on, and give Laurent a terrified look.

"Its a high roller. You know how I like to treat our more... Wealthy customers special. This one requested you personally," Laurent explains, and I try not to grimace at his hand on my ass. He pauses in front of one of the doorways, giving me a sharp look. "Best behavior, _Swan_. This guy has more money than the fucking queen of England, and I would love to have him as a returning customer. Remember - the more money you make, the more money I make, and the happier I am." He drops a kiss at the top of my head, making me recoil, before pulling open the curtain and pushing me in. I nearly face plant but manage to catch myself on the small platform in the center of the room. There is a pole, of course, and a circular booth surrounding it. Sitting there, calm and smug as can be, is Edward Masen. He grins, raises his snifter to me.

"We meet again, Miss Mora." _Shit._

**_Reviews are lovely! If you like what I'm doing, hate what I'm doing, let me know... Reviews mean Jesus will give you a magical kitten. OR Stripper Edward, whatever your fancy._**


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